


gut feeling

by stanyeol



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanyeol/pseuds/stanyeol
Summary: Luhan is Minseok’s best mistake.





	gut feeling

**Author's Note:**

> i started this because i wanted to write an unhealthy-relationship-two-people-ruining-their-lives-together thing but turns out a friend of mine had grander plans for the same thing—and well, i knew she could do this one more justice HAHAHA  
> so while i sit on the corner and wait for her 100k words to come alive, please enjoy this short scene (and wait with me)
> 
> (note: this really isn’t much; it’s similar to just a long, long prompt, but i really just wanted to put this up and update my ao3 account since it has been abandoned for a while)

If there were one thing that Minseok didn’t have much experience in, it was being someone’s priority.

 

Being the eldest in a family that seemed to be united by the collective need to earn more money instead of the movie-typical “love” for one another, Minseok was no stranger to being bereft of attention. Every day of his life was allotted to the idea that he had to make his family’s situation better—his sister had to go to a better school than he did, his father had to stop working in the next few years or else his back would go worse, his mother had to stop working in the next few  _ months _ or else she’d “completely lose it” (her words, not Minseok’s. There was no room in his life for longing for hugs, or forehead kisses, or pats in the back with hurried, tear-filled whispers of  _ “I’m proud of you, son _ .” Affection was a luxury, when all of his hours were to be dedicated to earning. It was that, or they starve, as his mother often reminded him. 

 

So despite the strain in his arms from his part-time job at the grocery store, the pangs of hunger in his stomach as he ignored his body’s request for another meal, and the annoying throb in his head that he didn’t know if it were the result of the previous two, or another thing altogether, Minseok knew that he didn’t have the right to complain. He couldn’t. He  _ shouldn’t _ . Too much time would have been wasted, time that he could have used to earn more—for the  _ better future _ that his mother had always espoused. After everything that she sacrificed for them, it was the only way for him to repay her… at least, that’s what she told him every time he would show any semblance of tiredness. 

 

There was a part in Minseok that knew that this was wrong, that he should know better, that the best idea for him is to run away and never come back and  _ live for himself _ . But as the fear seeps into his bones— _ what would happen to his sister? His father?  _ Even  _ his mother _ ?—he lets it tether him to the ground, like invisible chains securing the persisting patheticness of his life. He wanted to blame it on his own ignorance, and say that it’s not like he knew any better, but Minseok knew the truth—he was a coward. And the most shameful one at that, as he continue to live day by day, pretending that him dealing with the cards given to him was a courageous act. 

 

His mother would probably embarrassed for having a son like him. But it’s not like she’d know this turmoil that’s inside of him. After all, all Minseok did was keep his head down and stay quiet.

 

So if you ask Minseok why he continued to stay with Luhan, it’s because of this— _ he really didn’t know any better. _

 

* * *

 

 

Minseok felt his cheeks fire up as he was pressed roughly, face-first, into the mattress. Or rather: he was pressed roughly and  _ repeatedly _ , into the mattress. As Luhan continued to thrust into him, the man’s salacious moans alternating with animalistic grunts, he felt like he was being pushed deeper and deeper into the harsh fabric of Luhan’s bedsheets. He would have wanted to complain— _ it hurt _ , to be honest. And the idea that the marks on his cheeks would probably resemble some form of carpet burn, with how hard Luhan was pushing into him, burned his cheeks even more in embarrassment. Propping himself up with his hands or elbows would have been nice, but Luhan had them behind Minseok’s back, as he held into them gleefully. Minseok could just imagine the view if someone could see them—he probably looked like a rocking horse, only naked, sweaty, out-of-breath, and covered in bodily fluids that Minseok really didn’t want to think too much about right now. This was his lowest of lows, and he really would complain—no, _ really _ —if only this didn’t happen too often that any complaints would probably come off as a joke.

 

So he just laid there… and  _ took it _ .

 

Luhan grabbed his hair from the back of his head and pulled him towards his chest. He was suddenly hit by a sudden wave of whiplash that he wasn’t sure where it came from—was it the hair-pulling, the rapid movement, or the fact that his back was now contorted in an arch that probably looked grotesque. But as Luhan leaned over him, tracing his neck with his lips, Minseok thought that he probably didn’t look that  _ bad _ , if the other man was acting like this.

 

Luhan darted out a tongue and licked a short stripe in the space between his neck and his shoulder, as if stealing a taste. He felt his breath hitch, making him gasp audibly. And with Luhan’s hips stilling as his hands roamed around Minseok’s body, feeling, and their breaths the only noise the room bore witness too, there was an alien quietness that was present. It was something Minseok found discomfort in, despite not knowing why. His stomach tied up in knots, which was ridiculous, considering the situation he was currently in. Then, as he felt the other man smile against his neck, he realized what it was: shame. Because here he was, unabashedly claiming pleasure when he didn’t deserve it. Most of all, he had been  _ seen _ .

 

“You like that, Minnie?” Luhan whispered lowly. The man’s hand found its place on Minseok’s chest, his fingers playing around, as if mapping the area. Then it settled on one of his nipples, his index finger tracing circles around it. Minseok tried to suppress a whine. That has always been a sensitive area for him, and Luhan was using it too much to his advantage. However, his silence didn’t seem to satisfy the other man, seemingly deciding to elicit a better response from Minseok. He took one of Minseok’s nipples between his fingers and pinched.

 

“Come on, Minnie,” Luhan teased. “You should answer when asked. It’s rude not to.” All Minseok answered was a heavy, breathy sigh.

 

Unsatisfied, Luhan crooked his finger and drove the crescent edge of his fingernail straight on the center of Minseok’s nipple, making him jolt from the pain and sensitivity. His walls clenched tighter around Luhan, something that ridiculously surprised Minseok because honestly, has he been so out of it that Luhan still being inside him slipped off his mind? Meanwhile, the other man interpreted Minseok’s reaction as encouragement, and momentarily pushed back halfway from Minseok. He couldn’t exactly look behind him, but something told Minseok that Luhan was probably peering over the mess in Minseok’s ass and  _ gloating _ . The smugness was practically radiating off the man. As much as he wanted to smack Luhan because of it, his hardened cock begged to differ. How it seemingly throbbed with the thought of Luhan admiring his work—his work  _ on him _ —was enough of a testament to his appreciation.

 

Luhan took both of his hands off Minseok’s chest and spread the older man’s cheeks apart. With one thumb stroking one cheek while the other traced his abused hole, Luhan wolf-whistled. “We’ve been going at it for a while, and you still won’t tell me if you like it, Minnie,” he said. “I’m hurt. Am I doing something wrong,  _ babe _ ?”

 

It was that endearment. That one fucking word. It was a reminder of what this was, of what they were, of what Minseok was. It was both so cloyingly sweet and absurdly generic that Minseok was just slapped with the idea that he wasn’t the only one Luhan used that name with. That once again, he wasn’t special. He wasn’t a priority, and the worst part of it all is when he’s with Luhan, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that he was okay. He knew that they arranged this to be like  _ this  _ beforehand, but somehow, he couldn’t help but wish for more. It was just human, Minseok wanted to reason out, but he knew that it would be a disservice to humanity if he generalized his fragility for everyone. 

 

Luhan ignored his silence and resumed fucking him. With one solid thrust, especially since the older man was too preoccupied with his  _ everything _ , Minseok landed on his face again on the mattress. Luhan plowed into him quickly, his thrusts efficient, driving into Minseok’s spot every time. There was no room for sloppiness in Luhan’s actions, and with his hands traveling to Minseok’s thighs—careful not to touch his aching and throbbing cock—to raise it a little and change the angle, Minseok knew already what the other man was doing: he was trying to prove a point. This was their usual game—see how long Minseok would come untouched. Did it matter that Minseok never felt satisfied with this despite coming? No. All that mattered was the validation it gave to Luhan. It’s not like Minseok did anything to discourage that. His silence was enough.

 

So, Minseok took his free hands and fisted them on the thin bedsheets. He didn’t even bother propping himself up to protect his face. Luhan would want to see the marks on his face later.

  
  



End file.
